Lost and Found
by BrienneofThrace
Summary: Claire, still trapped by Ethan, is haunted by the thought that Charlie is 'dead' because of her. Safe at the beach, Charlie is dead, on the inside at least as he thinks about Claire...alone and scared. With things looking so low, can there ever be a happy


He sat in silence, his forehead resting on his grimy palm, which he hadn't felt the motivation to wash over the past week. His eyes were eyes closing and opening, experimenting, shutting softly, shutting tightly, half open, wide open…constantly changing in effort to see if anything would stop the pain. He was trying to relax, to move his thoughts to other things, to prevent those eyes from filling up, as they had been doing spontaneously over the past days, ever since he broke out of his trance and began to feel. Feel the pain, the loss, the love, the shame, the guilt.

The guilt of sitting on this warm sand, with his back leaning on a large boulder, food and water at hand, at his becking call if he wanted it. But he didn't. His appetite was gone, along with a piece of his heart. He shouldn't be here. He should be the one tied up, locked up, possibly starving, dehydrated, cold…maybe dead. Not her. Not Claire.

She should be in the caves, blankets and firelight surrounding her angelic face, with Jack by her side, standing ever in close proximity, in case she needed him. In case it was time. He could only hope that the child remained in the womb, warm, safe and unaware of the horror that his mother was feeling in the care of those monsters. The horror that she SHOULDN'T be feeling. What he should be feeling in her place.

He almost regretted being found. It was stupid, he knew. She still wouldn't have turned up, just because he stayed missing. It was a miracle they'd even stumbled upon him, hanging from the tree, body limp. And had he not been found in time, had he died, Claire would STILL be with those bastards. Bastards who he couldn't even remember. Still a part of him felt like it was because he was found that she was now alone. A part of him felt that if he'd never been found, she would have been. There was no logic to it, but he had no desire to be logical right now. He had no desire to do anything. To eat, to drink, to be awake, to sleep, to bathe.

All he desired was a reversal of time. To go back to a day where they'd smiled. To the day he'd helped her do laundry or drag a suitcase across the beach, to the day where he'd brought her water and joked about Locke's knives, to go to the day where she'd grinned at him, her hair catching the rays of the sun and glowing fantastically as he made a show of himself eating non-existant food with passion and boyish immaturity. He wanted to recall what joy felt like. With her by his side, feeling it too.

He felt the presence of someone behind him. They spoke, but he heard naught but a buzzing sound. He knew what was being said without hearing it. There wasn't much anyone said to him now. They asked him if he was okay, they begged him to eat,' to take a sip of water, just a tiny sip, it was roasting out here', saying he'd pass out if he didn't. Their words were filled with kindness, but so much more sorrow and worry than they had been filled with his first night back. That night they were so glad he was alive, that he'd made it. But now, when all he did was stare at a fixed object for hours on end, not moving a muscle, they looked as if they might actually understand how he was feeling. That he may have been better off dead than like this. He was a broken man.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and felt the motions of head shaking in exasperation. He didn't even bother to turn, to figure out who it was. Probably Jack, or Kate, or maybe Hurley. But it could be anyone. Even bloody Sawyer seemed to be concerned about him. Charlie hadn't taken in much of what was going on around him since his return, but he vaguely recalled the Southerner waving a hand in front of his face casually, trying not to appear too genuine, trying to maintain his coolness. But upon seeing Charlie's reaction, or lack there of, he'd gotten a look of puzzlement and asked, "You okay, man?" and Charlie had heard real concern. As with everyone else, Charlie hadn't bothered to respond. There wasn't a point. He tried again, "Listen, Sport, I'm sure the Doc'll find your girl soon…" he'd trailed off. Every one of them had given up onactually trying to get a reaction out of him. He was an empty shell.

Except for when water was forced on him, he was usually left to himself, and his haunting thoughts. All he could see was Claire. Claire sitting in the corner of a cold stone room, hands bound behind her back, with nothing but the sleeveless shirt that produced no warmth. Her babywould be born by now, despite his hopes that it would hold off until she was rescued. If she was rescued. She was so close the day Ethan took them, it was a wonder she didn't have it right then. There was no way she could have held out for another week. Her child wanted out, unaware of what the world had in store for it. By now, the baby was probably in Ethan's cold hands, his sneering face looking into it's innocent eyes. And Claire would be alone, and afraid, left with torturous thoughts of what that piece of scum was doing to her beautiful child.

Charlie's thoughts were eating him up inside, as he sat on a warm beach, with ten people who would gladly listen to him if he chose to speak. She didn't even have the option of human company. She was in complete solitude, with no one there to reassure her that they would get out, to reassure her that her son, or daughter would be put into the skillful care of Jack, any minute now, and he could make sure it grew to be big and healthy and happy.

He would rather be stuck in whatever hell hole she was in, trying to keep her warm, and hopeful, whispering over and over again that everything would be okay, than on this beach, with warm sun rays on his face, with food and friendly faces thirty seconds away. He realized he was shaking, with sweat streaming from every pore in his body, his fists clenching. If he ever got his hands on that man, he would rip him apart, with no weapon but his fury.

On the other end of the Island, she was thinking the same thoughts.

Perhaps Charlie was a lucky guesser, or perhaps he felt it, but there she was, in the environment he'd seen in his head, her back stuck against a stone wall, shivering slightly, with a blanket he had purposely left just out of her reach thrown carelessly on the floor. Ethan meant for it to tease her. She scoffed at the thought. She could care less about the thick fleece. She wasn't even aware of her quivering. It didn't matter. What mattered was that her innocent little son, whom yet had fallen in love with from the first moment she'd seen him, was in the care of a man whose eyes were like two sunken black pits, eyes that held one emotion, if any: malice.

When her baby, with his beautiful blue eyes, his pudgy fingers and fair, almost non-existant hair was thrusted at her for his feedings, the only time Claire had with him, he stood over her, and she would briefly take her eyes off the beautiful creature in her arms to stare stonily back at him, hatred glowing in her eyes. She didn't know she had the capacity to hate, until 5 days ago. She'd never hated anyone, not her mother, who'd told her she was useless, pathetic and a disgrace for years on end, not even Tomas, who had broken her heart with a mallet, and didn't even blink an eye. But she hated Ethan.

She hated him for allowing her baby's neck to flop when he carried him, never supporting it properly, the way he thrust him into her arms, saying, "Make it quick, mommy," in that voice that sent shivers up her spine. As the little angel, who she'd decided to call Mark burried into her warmth, drinking hungrily, she wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tightly, tears of love and fear pouring out of her. The only thing that kept her going were those feeding times, the thought of holding little Markie again. When the baby was full, if Ethan was distracted, she would give him her finger to wrap his hand around and plant kisses all over his face. When he noticed, he would snatch the child out of her arms, striking her if she tried to resist and cling on to her infant any longer. Mark always began to wail as soon as he was taken from her. Even he could tell that the only place he was loved was when he was in her arms.

As Ethan left, he made sure to leave her with words that kept her from sleeping at night. "I wonder how loud he'll cry if I bend his fingers back," or "I wonder how deep a baby can be cut without dying?" When he said things like this, she would lunge at him, her hands and legs bound and attempt to cause damage to him in vain. All he had to do was push her and she would topple over, because of her bound legs. But of course, he preferred to cause more pain than that. She tried to restrain herself now, knowing nothing could be gained from it, and all it did was make him more vicious towards her and her child. He wouldn't hurt the baby…she tried to tell herself. He had a need for it, a need which she wasn't aware of, but was obviously there. He wouldn't dare use a knife on it. But even thinking about Ethan causing the slightest pain to her angel caused her stomach's limited contents to spill. Hearing such things caused a maternal rage to bubble inside her that she never knew she possessed.

When she wasn't thinking of her baby, her thoughts were on the only other person she really cared about right now. Charlie. Thoughts of him were even more painful, because Mark was, at the very least, alive. She thought of the day they were captured, and an ache went through her.

As they were dragged through the jungle, a knife in Ethan's hand, threatening to slice either of them open if they refused to cooperate, Charlie had whispered to her constantly. He had reassured her, and although she was terrified, she kept repeating in her mind, "At least Charlie's here. At least I'm not alone." A few hours before, she wasn't sure whether that would have been such a great comfort. She had liked Charlie, the lovable, slightly childish, and enormously funny young man who had always been nice to her from day one. But he wouldn't have been high on the list of people who she'd choose to get kidnapped with. She didn't think he could make her feel so safe, in such an unsafe situation.

But he'd proven to be a person deserving of all her trust. He had extended his friendship to her over and over, not being dissuaded even when she was aloof, rude and snappy. He had tried valiantly to be a Jack, to be something he wasn't; an experienced doctor. He couldn't leave her, even when she was roaring at him to get out of there and get Jack. She wasn't used to such unconditional kindness and genuine concern. She'd never been looked at by someone, and really felt so…cared for. She'd been reluctant to trust him, her heart still bruised from Tomas' abandonment. But as he counted in sugar plum fairies and babbled about drugs, she knew that he was no Tomas.

But the feeling of security that had enveloped her was dented as soon as she saw _him_ standing there, emotionless and menacing. Charlie's arm flew around her, and she knew he felt the danger too. It didn't take long for the attack. Charlie tried to intimidate him, tried to stand protectively in front of her and make Ethan back off. But before they even saw it they recognized the sound of the knife being pulled out. They were defenseless. They followed. With Ethan's back turned, Charlie tried to tackle him, but he turned before Charlie was even a foot away. His punch knocked him off his feet, and he began to drag him through the trees. Claire followed, knowing running was useless in her condition. After a while, Ethan let Charlie go, making them both walk in front, under his watchful eyes.

They walked together, Charlie whispering reassurances, but not looking in her direction, which they knew would infuriate him. She listened to his words, and believed them…almost.Yeah, It _would _be okay, as long as he was there. He said he would take care of her, and he would. But she her fear was that he wouldn't BE with her long. She could already feel Ethan's glare on their backs, shoving them both forward whenever Charlie tried to squeeze her arm or hold her hand to reassure her. Their eyes met every few minutes. They both held the same fear, and both knew that her baby was the reason they were here. The mother would be required for the baby to born. Charlie however, was not required.

She had whispered back, for the first time, saying "Charlie, I can't run. I wouldn't make it 10 feet. You know what he wants. You can get out of here."

There was fear in her voice, but also conviction. She meant it. She wanted him to be safe, even if she couldn't be. He turned very slowly to face her.

"Don't be an idiot, Claire" He said it calmly and monotonously, and she knew there was no point in arguing. If he wouldn't leave her alone while she was having contractions, he obviously wasn't going to run off when a psycho with a knife was kidnapping her. However she tried once more.

"Charlie, please. There's no point in both of us-"

"Shut up," he shout-whispered. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, love."

She sighed, looking at him with eyes that screamed of annoyance and gratefullness. He risked a squeeze of her hand, and was shoved by Ethan, who shouted,

"Cut that out, short man. You're looking for trouble, and I'll show you the way gladly."

When they reached a clearing, a man taller than Ethan, with a thick brow and a black beard. Ethan held out his hand and muttered, "rope."

The man opened a backpack and pulled out what looked more like thick vines than rope. Ethan grabbed Charlie and pulled the rope around his neck so fast that Claire barely even saw it happen. Ethan moved quicker than seemed natural. She began to scream, for the first time, shouting "Let him go! Get off him, you bastard."

She ran at Ethan impulsively, and tried to pull him off the struggling Charlie, her fists beating his back. She knew he could barely feel them. He laughed, and she was pulled off by the thick-eyebrowed man, kicking and flailing. Their eyes met for a moment and then he was whisked off by Ethan, being pulled by the noose around his neck.

"Looks like your buddy is making a trip to the gallows, girlie," the large man sneered, holding out a knife of his own. She walked, horriffied, unable to even cry. She couldn't believe what was happening. Her breath came out in gasps, as images of Charlie watching as Ethan set up his execution, unable to do anything to save himself, knowing he was inches from death, and having to watch the tools of murder being prepared. She could only imagine the fear. As brave as he was, no man could handle that.

The last hours they'd spent together played over and over again, and she began to blame herself more and more for his death. Because he WAS dead. She stared at the pitch black wall, and didn't even try to believe otherwise. There was no way he could fight Ethan. She might have hope for herself and the baby, hope that they might be saved, but Charlie, her poor, selfless, lovable Charlie was dead.

The one person who stuck by her, when she was giggly, when she was terrified, when she was happy and when she was grumpy on this hellish island. He should have tried to run away before! When he had the chance! He shouldn't have been so damn GOOD. She would still be here, either way, but at least he'd be alive, safe at the caves. He could even have gone for help. And let Jack and the others search for her. He could be safe, and waiting for her. Tears rolled down her cheeks. He was too good to her. And she'd never even gotten to express how important he was, how bearable, even fun, he had made life for her since their crash landing here.

"Charlie, I'm sorry," she sobbed looking up and wondering if he could hear her up there. If there even WAS an 'up there.' She was starting to doubt everything. "I should have told you how grateful I was for you. I should have told you every day."

She sat, sobbing and seeing a scene replay in her head, over and over. The look on his face when he'd offered his friendship, with openess she'd never witnessed in a man, and she had rejected him. She'd made him feel the hurt that she hated feeling so much. The hurt Tomas had caused her. He'd been nothing but sweet and friendly to her, and she'd let her previous heartbreak ruin his chance of having a friendship before his death. She'd seen him, reaching out to everyone on the island with nothing but the desire to feel like he was useful, and she hadn't seen anyone appreciate him. She herself had been included, until those moments during her contractions.

She hoped he'd understood, when they were heading back to the caves that she regretted not accepting his friendship from the first moment he'd offered it. He must have. That's why he looked at her like he did, as the traveled the path, knife at their backs. He wouldn't leave her, because although she'd never said it, they were friends. The best pair of friends on the island. But the slight possibility that he DIDN'T know how much she cared was killing her. The possibility that he'd hung from the rope in his last moments of his life, not knowing how torn up inside she was because of his death was unbearable. She threw her head back in frustration, in depression, in despair, hitting the rocky wall and not even flinching. It was just too much. She wanted her son, and she wanted her Charlie.

Just then the door creaked open, and heard her name being called. Called without sarcasm or spite. Called with uncertainty and hope. It was a woman's voice. She tried to sit up quickly, to listen better, but she was feeling so weak.

"Claire? Claire please answer us!"

"Who…"

"Claire, is that you?"

"K-kate?"

"OH MY GOD! JACK! SAYID! SAWYER! LOCKE! MICHAEL, I FOUND HER! SHE'S ALIVE."

In a daze, she listened as footsteps thundered towards her, and Kate ran to her side, torch in hand, crouching down and untying her ropes. She got unsteadily to her feet, starving from underfeeding, and took Kate's hand as she was lead into a bright hallway. She squinted, unaccostumed to the light, and muttered,

"Where's… Mark?"

"Who's Mark, honey?" Kate asked, putting a blanket around her shivering shoulders.

"… baby…and…where…Ethan…oth…men?"

"It's okay, Claire. We caught them when they weren't expecting it, they're all locked in a room down the hall."

"All…four?" she asked, still dazed and worried, looking around quickly, expecting a knife to be held at their throats by hulking men any second..

"Yes, there were four in there. You've only seen four in total?"

"the…baby,"Claire asked, still shaking.

"Jack has him, honey. Look here he comes," Kate said soothingly, rubbing her shoulder. Claire ran towards Jack, wincing as she did and seized Mark from him, squeezing the infant against her, sobbing with relief. She kept her tight grip on the child as they headed toward the exit of the building. Jack and Kate were talking, but she wasn't listening. She was kissing her child, repeatedly, unable to stop. A door was being gaurded by Sayid and Michael who both held guns, which they'd taken from somewhere in the building, she assumed. Sawyer stood at the exit, a gun in his hand as well. Kate had one too, she noticed. They understood how dangerous these men were. This made Claire feel safer, but didn't loosen the grip on the baby.

"Okay, guys," Kate panted. "I think it's important that we keep as many of us here as possible. Just in case there are more. Claire's only seen four, but there could be others that she hasn't seen. She was kept in a dark room, so she may not have seen them all. Claire, would you be okay going back with just one of us?"

Claire was a bit frightened by the thought, but she also figured if there were more of them, they'd stay around here, and they needed to be caught to ensure the safety of everyone. She nodded, feeling no desire to speak more than necessary. One person taking her would mean less talking, fewer questions.

"Who wants to take her?" Jack asked. Claire felt Sawyer's gaze upon her, and felt he, the loner that he was, understood her want for silence.

"I'll do it," he said, in his Southern drawl. The others tried to contain their surprise, and nodded as they headed out, Kate giving her another reassuring pat on the back, and Jack ruffling her hair.

As they departed, Sawyer muttered "Welcome back, kid." She smiled, but didn't speak, and he was content to walk in silence. Claire was feeling mixed emotions. She was so happy to be out of there, her perfect child safely sleeping with his fists scrunched at his face. But the optomism she'd practiced all her life had disappeared since arriving on this island. All she could think about was Charlie. Hanging from a tree in the jungle. They must know he's dead, she figured. That's why no one brought it up, no one asked if she'd seen him. She thought of asking Sawyer, but saying it aloud terrified her. Maybe later.

"That's a pretty good looking baby you have there, Claire," Sawyer said, a half grin on his face. She smiled, sadly. She looked around and the environment was starting to look familiar. "You come up with a name for… if it _is _a him…yet?"

"Yeah," she said with a half hearted laugh. "This is Mark."

"Why so depressed? You're out of the damn dungeon. Dissappointed about not being rescued by a knight on a white horse," he said, but without the usual bitterness. It was clearly his way of asking what was still bothering her, without sounding too gushy. They entered the area of the cave-camp, and she sighed. Walt looked up and grinned, and she saw Sun smiling excitedly as she cooked over the fire.

" It's Charlie," she said. "I feel like it was all my fault. If it wasn't for me, he COULD have gotten away. At least he would have a had a fighting chance. But I couldn't run, and he wouldn't save himself. He refused to leave, and I let it go. I should have bloody insisted!"

She watched a look of realization dawn on Sawyer's face, as her eyes welled up with tears again, but she could have sworn she saw amusement on it as well. But that was a sick thought. What kind of sicko would be amused that Charlie had been hung because he was too brave to leave her with a madman? Well, except for Ethan. She ignored it, and continued to speak about her pain.

"I should have made him lea- Hi Walt!"

"Wow, I'm glad you're okay Claire," Walt said, and tip-toed to get a look at Mark's face. He was just waking up, and blinking at his world. "That's a really cute baby!"

"Thanks Walt, his name's Mark," Claire said, trying to appear happy. She should be happy. Her baby was safe. " When he gets a bit older, maybe you can teach him how to be a cool big boy for me, alright? I don't know what boys like to do these days! When I was a kid, they just liked to chase lizards and frogs. Come to think of it so did I. But I don't think he'll want to do that with his boring old mum. He'll want more fun company, I'm sure."

Walt, looking very enthusiastic, nodded excitedly, and ran off. Claire turned back to Sawyer, who was looking thoughtful…and mischieveous?

"Now, Claire, since you've been stuck inside for so long, maybe a bit of sunshine might be good for you. I think, at least until the others get back, you should maybe stick around the beach. You know, just in CASE anyone followed us, we could spot them a lot easier in open space."

Claire raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "Okay…good idea." As they walked, Mark was looking around with wide eyes. Sawyer chuckled. "Nice change of scenery, huh, little man?" When they got to the beach, Sawyer, looked around. He saw Boone, told Claire to hold on, and rushed up to him. Boone looked wary, taking a step back, but then relaxed when Sawyer began talking. He pointed in the direction of a big boulder, and Sawyer nodded.

"Come on, this way, mommy" Sawyer barked. Claire looked puzzled, and felt very weary all of a sudden. She was tired of thinking, and just wanted it explained to her.

"What? Wait! Where the hell are we going?"

"Shush. Have patience," he said, grinning widely, and trying not to. He was trying to keep a straight face, but was failing miserably. And it wasn't a usual Sarcastic-Sawyer grin. He looked at her and said,

"Just because you were missing for a couple of days and have a kid, doesn't mean you get to know stuff exactly when you want it! It'll be better if you get a bit of a shock."

She was confused, but decided to follow without questioning it. She was just too tired. As she reached the boulder Sawyer put a hand out, making her halt. She tried to look over it, but he looked at her patronizingly, saying "Hey, stop that, damnit. Hold on for two damn seconds."

He walked in behind the boulder, and she heard him say "I've got a surprise for you, kid." He wasn't directing it towards her, or he would have said it louder. He was talking to someone else. Then he came back out, grabbed her arm and pulled her behind it. Her jaw dropped and her heart literally stopped for a second. So did his.

His eyes were dead and swollen, as if he'd been crying, but after about two seconds, they were filled with disbelief and amazement. So were hers.

"I ain't interested in mushy, garbage, so I'm gonna hit the road, before ya'll start talkin'. Congratulations, Mom and Pop," he grinned. They barely heard him.

One pair of eyes bore into the other for what seemed like eons. Finally, quivering, Claire spoke "But, but…he…he hung you. He _told me. _He said youwere dead. You're dead"

"Bad luck, love. I'm afraid you're stuck with me for a while longer. Sorry to dissa-" His words, said through his first grin in a week, trailed off as Claire's free arm was thrown around him. He hugged back, and she shifted the baby so he was stuck between them, and she could give him a full two armed hug. Charlie was whispering words to her, as they embraced, "My God love, I'm so bloody glad you're here. You don't understand how glad I-"

He stopped abruptly, as he heard sobs coming out of her, and felt hot tears soak through his shirt onto his shoulder.

"What's wrong? Why're you crying, love? You're safe now. He's never going to lay a hand on you or this gorgeous little guy again," he said, taking the baby gently from her, and sitting, tugging her down with him. Resting the baby against his chest, he pulled her to him as well, as she sobbed. With one arm supporting the baby, he held her against his side with the other. He tried to make her speak, feeling helpless as she continued to cry her heart out.

In true male fashion, he could never understand a woman's tears after the happy ending arrived. "Claire, love, TELL me. You're killing me here. We're all safe n-"

"Ch-charlie. I-I-I'm SO sorry. Your neck," she said, feeling the marks left by the rope, "It's all my fault! You nearly died. I thought you _WERE. _How'd you…it's a miracle…but however it happened…WHAT IF IT DIDN'T? It would've been my fault. You should have just gone. I should have made you leave. I-"

"Claire!" He shouted, making her jump. She had almost forgotten she was there. "You're talking crazy, love. If you knocked me out and threw me off a cliff to make me go away, I would've climbed back up, and chased you threw the jungle until I found you. I couldn't have left you, not by choice. That would be like choosing to leave my own mum in a tank with Jaws. Claire, if anything, I should be the one apologizing. _I _promised I'd take care of you, and I went back on it-"

"You had a rope around your neck, and a knife held by a man with inhumane strength at your throat! You had no bloody choice, even though you SHOULD have tried to get away before. And I should have MADE you-"

Charlie smiled warmly, and put a finger to her lips, "Shhh, love, we're both being silly. We could go on fighting over who's to blame for hours, but I've just got you back, and I don't fancy fighting. What I do fancy is finding out the name of the baby I was nearly as worried about as I was about you."

Claire blushed slightly, and smiled, "Charlie this is Mark. Mark, this is Charlie."

"Not quite sure he understands english yet, Claire," Charlie teased. She punched him softly.

" I _KNOW _that, Charlie. I was just trying to-" she broke off when he started laughing at her, and shook her head.

"What I REALLY want to do right now is sleep for about a week, but there are a few things I need to do before that."

"Which are?"

"Well, I'd like to say hello to everyone I haven't seen yet, and have a bite to eat, wash myself and then, most importantly, I need to kick Sawyer's ass for not telling me right away that you were alive, and for letting me ramble on like an idiot about how I killed you, just so he could laugh at the looks on our faces when we saw each other," Claire said, trying to sound serious but failing miserably. It had been the best surprise she'd gotten in her life.

"I could use a bite to eat myself. When we get off this island, I think I'll put out a new book, called "The Charlie Pace Diet." Are you a little overweight? Would you like to drop a pound or two, or twenty. Well, just get someone to pretend to kidnap your only bloody friend on earth and sit, alone with thoughts about what could possibly be happening to them. You won't be able to eat a thing. P.S. If she's pregnant and you live on an island, you're guaranteed to loose double the weight, or your money back. The End. Quite short, but why read a 1200 page book when my sure-fire method takes up a page?"

Laughing, his arm around her back and Mark in her arms, they walked off, towards the boar meat, where Sawyer was cutting himself a nice slice of it.

"Sawyer, I just want you to know that you are an extremely twisted, horrible person," Claire smiled, and he grinned up at the trio. "I guess you just accidentally forgot to shout 'Stop making an idiot out of yourself and feeling like hell! He's alive, you arse' while I was pouring my heart out, huh?"

"Sorry. Must have slipped my mind. Too bad I didn't have a polaroid though. You can never have too many pictures of yourself looking like a jackass," he smirked towards them both, and strolled off. Charlie caught her eye and grinned. He couldn't believe how quickly one's mood could go from completely distraught and helpless to overjoyed beyond belief. But he didn't care.

"Oh, come on, Claire, don't be upset," Charlie cooed, trying to sound concerned and not too smug, as she pouted by the fire 11 months later. "Everyone knows MOST babies say "Dada" first! It's just easier for them to make the "D" sound than to say "Mama". He doesn't love me any more than you! Shouldn't you just be happy he's talking? I didn't talk til I was nearly two!"

"Oh, so that's why you're so bloody slow now?" she asked innocently.

"HEY!" He cried in mock-offense. "Well if that's how you feel about it, then I'm glad he said my name first. Maybe he DOES love me- OWWW! No need to get violent, love. It's called a joke," he said, leaning in for a kiss. She turned her head, nose upturned.

"Stop trying to look snooty, love, it's not very becoming. Now give me that kiss before I steal it. Nothing? Fine!"

He lunged at her, and she squealed, trying to push him away. He grabbed her hands, and made her lie down. She stopped struggling and stared at him lovingly. He moved in, and wrapped his arms around her, his lips meeting hers. When they broke away, she whispered, "I love you, Charlie."

"I love you too, Mama," he said, resting his cheek on her belly, which was rising and falling as she giggled. His hand entwined in hers, they drifted off into a peaceful sleep.


End file.
